by Austin Veldman
It has been three weeks
since I found the wren on the bathroom floor
dying. I scooped him up in a paper towel
and pondered my options. He twitched, and
there were none. His lidded eyes watched me.
My hands wrapped around him, gave him warmth,
and when I had to leave, placed him in the boughs
of my father’s young redwood. It has been three weeks.
I can’t stop wondering if he thought I was God
come to take him beyond, thinking in his little mind
I knew it.